


Lost In Translation

by Duck_Life



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen, Hugs, Pettiness, Reunions, Saltmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:11:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sure, Threepio missed Luke, but it's not as if he's going to give the guy the satisfaction of saying that out loud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost In Translation

Luke can tell something’s wrong the second he steps in the war room. Sure, everyone’s been a little stiff around him, and sure, Threepio’s _always_ a little stiff.

This particular brand of stiffness is exceptional, though. He patiently waits for the droid to turn around and face him.

When Threepio refuses to turn for a couple long minutes, Luke clears his throat.

Nothing.

“Threepio?”

Threepio makes a sort of disgruntled harrumph and does not turn around.

Luke’s only been on the Resistance base a day, but already people have made their feelings known. Leia’s glad to have him back but affectionately pissed at him, Rey’s just enthralled, Poe Dameron’s torn between his respect for Luke and his loyalty to his General. The young pilot resorts to grudging admiration and leaving the room quickly whenever Luke appears.

“Threepio, you’re _awake_ , right?”

Luke swears he can hear C-3PO _sniffing_ haughtily. “I am operating at full capacity,” he assures Luke, and then adds, “Sir Skywalker.”

“Oh, come on, don’t call me that.”

“Call you what, Sir Skywalker?” Threepio continues, still obstinately facing away.

“Threepio-”

“My designation is _C-3PO_ ,” the droid reminds him in a clipped tone. And Luke had expected the chewing out from, well, Chewie, but to hear it from Threepio is a bit of a shock.

“Fine,” he sighs, giving in. “C-3PO. I got you a present.”

Still no turning around. “Leave it on the table on your way out.”

“Threepio.”

“That’s not my name, Sir Skywalker.”

“And Sir Skywalker’s not mine,” Luke says, old and bitter and, dammit, missing his friend. “Alright, fine. I’ll… see you.” As he steps out, he sets his gift down on the circle table.

It _chinks_ against the surface, piquing Threepio’s interest. He’s careful not to peek before Luke’s gone, and then he whips around so fast he may snap a joint.

And there it is, glistening and glorious and golden. A new arm, shinier even than the rest of him. Weighing the pros and cons of accepting a present from the man he’s supposed to be mad at, his red arm feeling heavier and heavier as he does, he hurries to the table and grabs for the arm.

It’s perfect. The right weight, the right balance. It feels so right that for a moment he considers trying to replace his arm by himself.

The thought passes quickly. After all, he’s a sensible sort of fellow.

Instead, Threepio tucks the arm under… his arm and starts to leave when he notices the note that came attached.

 _Threepio-_  
Sorry about the arm, but hey… we’ve all been there!  
Missed you.  
-Luke

While C-3PO hesitates, Luke takes the opportunity to spring back into the room. “So?”

“ _Master Lu-_ Sir Skywalker, you really shouldn’t jump out from behind corners in such a way,” Threepio criticizes, turning his back to Luke once more. “ _Really_ , this is a warzone. You could startle someone.”

“Startle _someone_?” Luke says, folding his arms. “Or startle _you_?”

“Regardless,” Threepio says, slowly shuffling away.

“How do you like the arm?”

Threepio freezes. For the millionth time, he wishes he hadn’t ever involved himself with so many humans. When it occurs to him that this would leave him with no one to interact with but Artoo, he swiftly rethinks his wish. “It will perform adequately, I’m sure,” he says of the arm, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know that Luke’s making a face.

“ _Threepio_.”

“Thank you for your contribution to the Resistance—”

“It’s not for the Resistance, it’s for you,” Luke says, running an irritated hand through his beard. “Because you’re my _friend_ , remember?”

“Yes, well, friends don’t abandon friends!” C-3PO snaps. “Friends do not run off alone and then show up again behaving as if nothing has happened. Or so I have come to understand it, that is. It seems I’m… rusty about the mechanics of friendship, after all.”

Luke sighs. “No, you’re right,” he admits. “I messed up. I’m sorry, Threepio.”

“Well.”

“I really messed up.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well.”

Luke scratches his beard again. “I know the arm doesn’t make up for it,” he tells Threepio, “but I did miss you.”

Awkwardly, Threepio shuffles his feet. “The Princess— the _General_ missed you as well.”

“Yeah,” he says, trying to hide his smile. “I’m sure _she_ did.”

“And the Resistance can use your help.”

“Alright,” Luke says, full-out smirking now. “Well, it’s really good to see the _Resistance_ again. And I hope that the _Resistance_ knows that it’s been rough without the _Resistance_ around to tell me all the different ways I can die in space. And I want the _Resistance_ to remember—”

“Now I’m afraid you’re just speaking jibberish, Master Luke.”

The next thing Threepio knows, Luke’s come up behind him and thrown his arms around him in a backwards hug. It’s not necessarily unpleasant but it is, as many things Luke Skywalker does, exasperating.

“It’s good to see you, Threepio,” Luke says, and gives him a little kiss on the side of the head.

“Yes,” Threepio says, “well.”

Luke leaves him with the new arm and walks toward the door, passing Artoo on his way out.

If Threepio laughs inwardly when R2-D2 zaps Luke’s ankle, well, no one has to know.

 


End file.
